TiMe

I miss me time: eyes closed, head resting back on the high back sofa, capturing the ingredients of ideas to roll and let rise and knead into something else. Thoughts that catch in my throat somehow find a voice through my fingertips. When was the last time I took genuine, leisurely time to let thoughts gather like clouds?

Me Time sounds selfish: Me-Me-Me-Me! Afternoon naps, are you kidding? Shouldn't we always have a purpose like baking a pie, or gardening, fixing the car, or reading two chapters -- TWO! -- in the just released Janet Evanovich book? Purposeful time is work all dressed up in a leisure suit.

But my body has this concept down pat. After 50 years, it tells me when I need Me Time, and it's not very polite about it. When a cold starts taking hold, it's followed by a forced trip to the Green Room where I sit and wait to find out what's next. Oh I employ my best diversionary tactics, double up on vitamins and drink quarts of OJ, but the Green Room wraps me up, makes me stop and inevitably head off to bed.

We need a Green Room for the spirit. When life tumbles too fast, something would automatically slow us down to regroup. Everyday things, like sweet little moments before the snooze alarm sounds, or the feeling we get when we treat the car behind to a bridge toll, or put a dish out on the stoop for that little lost dog that won't come near would give us the needed boost to put more of us back in our lives.